


Unbound

by In_Dee



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:53:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25219567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Dee/pseuds/In_Dee
Summary: A betrayal represents a violation of trust and produces moral and psychological conflict. It is often an act of supporting a rival group. It can also be a complete break from previously decided upon norms. Or it can be both… and every action has consequences.
Comments: 27
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright everyone. I usually stay out of politics because there’s just too much to argue about. I especially stay out of foreign politics. That being said, as someone not living in America, as a non-US citizen, I’ve looked on from the outside for a while. The long line of happenings left me part stunned, part confused, often agape and aghast.
> 
> This story was originally written in January 2020. I’ve been debating with myself over and over on when to post the story because:   
> first the whole world went to hell in a hand basket full of virus particles and it suddenly didn’t feel like the right time. Then came the BLM movement and just when it felt nearly ok to post it again, there came the news about Russia and Bounties and… boy, suddenly the story felt a bit too close to reality for comfort.
> 
> Still, I’ve decided to just go through with it now, throwing courage ahead and jumping after it. You don’t have to approve, you don’t have to agree, you don’t have to _anything_ … as I said, this is just me trying to process some of what’s been happening.
> 
> I really hope you’re all safe.

A presidential tweet, the new channel of mass communication; free and open for anyone to read, to follow, to believe or ignore. It came at the heels of a meeting of two leaders, meant as a fierce rebuke to whoever dared cautioning the President against doing what he did.

A simple line, full of entitlement:

_‘I HAVE THE ABSOLUTE RIGHT TO SHARE INFORMATION.’_

It reached 72 million people worldwide.

His critics shook their heads and wrung their hands in worry.

His supporters crowed in affirmation.

And somewhere, someone paid the price.

Xxxxxxx

Nell skidded to a stop at the railing of the upstairs walkway. “Hetty,” she cried.

Silence fell in the open area below and everyone looked up.

Fear and desperation were so blatantly visible on Nell’s features that not only Hetty immediately stood, but Sam, Kensi and Deeks did as well.

Hetty gave them a glance but didn’t stop them from following her upstairs.

They filed into Ops where Nell was already back at her station, her and Eric working furiously, their fingers flying over their keyboards.

Nell barely glanced up, but that glance belied the upheaval and urgency. “Minutes ago, we received an email. There was a video file attached,” she trailed off, her voice shaking as she brought the still picture of the video file up on the screen.

A soft gasp escaping Kensi was the only audible reaction in the room, while the rest of the team reacted in shifts of body language alone: a jolt, an immediate influx of tension, a tightening of jaw.

“Have you watched the video?” Hetty asked slowly, her voice deceptively calm.

Both Nell and Eric shook their heads, Eric still clicking away at his keyboard while Nell glanced back at them, “I called you up as soon as we opened it and saw…”

Involuntarily, everyone’s eyes returned to the monitor, the still picture of their team leader on his knees, his face bloody, his hands shackled in front of him and a gun to his head.

Hetty inhaled slowly, “play it, please,” she directed evenly.

The video started moments later, the picture wobbling for several frames before the person holding the camera stood still. The feed sharpened.

Callen looked bad. His camo uniform was torn in places, bloodied in others. He’d taken a beating. His face was marred with cuts, smeared with blood. His eyes were bloodshot and beginning to swell; beneath that, there was a dazed and dull expression in them. His lip was split and blood clung to his chin. He was leaning slightly to the right and it had nothing to do with the gun pointed at him from the left. He looked exhausted and the strength and defiance they all knew well was hard to see underneath the blood and fatigue.

The camera shifted slightly upwards, zooming out and everyone blinked, realizing that at least ten seconds had gone by where the focus had been completely on Callen and none of the men around their team leader had spoken or moved. Now, the man with the gun shifted and came into view, while behind him, someone else stepped closer to Callen to keep him from trying anything. The obvious leader of the group turned to the camera.

“A traitor. Right in our midst.” The man’s eyes were narrowed, fury unconcealed as he looked straight into the camera. The words were spoken in English, fragmented and broken with a heavy Russian accent. “You Americans place him here - to wreck havoc on our cause. You interfere where you have no right to interfere.” The man spat on the ground in front of Callen before he glanced back up, “ _you_ failed,” he sneered at the camera and then pointed behind him, “ _he_ pays the price.” With that, the man turned and threw a punch that had Callen’s head snapping to the side.

Their team leader was slow to recover, his head eventually turning to face forward again. Fresh blood was smeared on his cheek where the skin had broken anew. He glanced up at the camera and frustration and exhaustion were clear to see even as he obviously struggled to contain them.

The man beside Callen turned back to the camera, a feral smile appearing on his lips. His eyes bore right into the camera and the fury combined with satisfaction. “Do thank your President for sharing the information that led us right to him.” There was a beat of a pause before the man turned swiftly and raised his hand.

Callen’s eyes widened before they seemed to shutter, his expression resigned as he understood a moment before everyone else did what was going to happen.

Two nearly simultaneous gunshots could be heard and Callen’s body jerked before falling forward.

The video cut off moments later and a grave, stunned silence fell over the room at the realization that they had just witnessed the execution of their team leader, their friend, an integral part of the close knit group of family.


	2. Chapter 2

Pain.

That was what he was aware of most.

Given that he hadn’t expected to be aware of anything ever again _after_ being shot, he was in a way glad for the pain. Then again, maybe not.

An involuntary yelp escaped him when he was drawn up, the men around him roughly dragging him along.

He didn’t have his wits together enough to understand what was happening, let alone counteract it.

Callen had been certain of his imminent death, had seen the man’s intention when he turned towards him and away from the camera. Remaining alive and being dragged around wasn’t something he had expected and it also wasn’t something that really sat well with him.

It stood to reason that they obviously wanted him to remain alive, but he didn’t know why.

He was thrown into the back of a military truck and Callen curled up as best as he could, fire racing up and down his back, making bile climb his throat. Swallowing, he closed his eyes, trying to take stock. He had taken a bullet to the back - from the feel of it, it was located high up. Trying to move his left arm resulted in a nausea inducing wave of agony and he instantly fell still.

Distantly, he noted that two people entered the back of the truck beside him moments before the engine started rumbling. Shortly after, the truck started rolling, bouncing over the uneven ground. His body rocked with the motion and pain flared every few seconds.

Callen tried breathing slowly. He felt shivers wracking his body, knew it was a reaction to the pain, the adrenaline and the shock of injury. He couldn’t fall into the oblivion of shock. Whatever was happening, he needed to try and stay alert. He was still alive so that meant there was still a chance to get away. As long as he was functional, he could potentially change his fate… maybe.

Callen blearily glanced up when he heard and felt someone approaching. He stared into the eyes of his would-be executioner. Ironically, it was the same man he had been sent to take out. Somehow, that hadn’t quite worked out the way it was supposed to.

“A quick death is too good for you,” the man sneered in Russian, his voice full of vengeful anger and hatred, “there are places for people like you in Russia.”

Gulags.

Inwardly, Callen sighed. The threat of facing a gulag was one thing, but going into it with a bullet in his back definitely reduced his chances of survival.

Closing his eyes, not giving the man the satisfaction of showing emotions, he tried ignoring the looming presence.

Moments later, his eyes shot back open and he hissed in pain when the man drew him up by his hair - hair that was longer than usual due to his months-long undercover stint. His hands unconsciously moved up to his head and he moaned in agony when the bullet wound hampered his movement and made itself known. A pulse of fresh blood ran down his back.

The man smiled in victory. “You lost.”

He let go of the tight hold of his hair and pushed Callen away. Callen bit back the renewed sound of pain when he slumped back onto the floor.

Xxxxxxx

Time had lost all meaning as the truck made its way first over the uneven ground of the unpaved paths and open grounds. Eventually, they reached some sort of a road and the going got somewhat smoother.

With that, the pain in his back also slowly settled down to a more bearable level. He fought to distance himself from the pain, drawing upon years of experience in how to handle and ignore physical hurts.

He was certain that while there had been damage done by the bullet, it wasn’t immediately life threatening. The bleeding was sluggish and may even have stopped altogether by now. The pain remained, throbbing and sometimes intensifying into sharp spikes. For the moment, it didn’t feel like his internal organs had been injured though. If his heart had taken the hit, he would have bled out by now. While breathing hurt, it wasn’t getting any more difficult, didn’t feel like he was drowning in fluid, so he didn’t think his lung had been harmed either.

Considering that there was no exit wound, and considering how moving his arm had hurt, he chanced a guess that his shoulder blade might have borne the brunt of the impact. He kept his arm mostly immobile, the cuffs around his wrists tethering his hands in front part help and part hindrance. A wandering bullet was the last thing he needed. Plus… in case his shoulder blade had been fractured, keeping his arm as immobile as possible would be the way to go.

At least, his mind was starting to work again, even if the rest of him didn’t feel like doing anything other than lying here and hoping for the pain to fade. He allowed his mind to drift somewhat, trying to come to grips with the last hours.

They had come for him in the middle of the night. The assault had been vicious as they laid into him with fists and feet. He had fought back just as hard, had known instinctively that this was a fight he desperately needed to win, but had no chance of doing so.

He had been subdued eventually, forced into submission before he had been questioned by his target.

The man he had been sent to take out, the man it had taken nearly a year to get closer to, was now the man who had turned the tables on him.

The reality of _how_ it had happened had felt like buckets of ice had been thrown at him:

His own President had shared confidential information with the Russian leader in a meeting at the White House. His captors had bragged and crowed about it, laughed and joked they soon wouldn’t need their own intelligence agencies any longer if they got all the desired information handed on a silver platter.

He hadn’t wanted to believe what he was being told, but even after being away from US soil for nearly a year while he had slowly moved through the ranks of pro-Russian militia groups fighting at the Ukrainian border, he had to admit it was a possible scenario. The President had shown little regard to the sensitive nature of confidential information before.

What he didn’t know was: _why_?

Was it just a slip of tongue, the President not minding what he told someone else?

Or was it something bigger, in a worst case scenario something specifically targeted against him that put him in danger even in his own backyard… if he ever got back to it.

Callen blinked his eyes open when the truck slowed down.

He was still on the floor, half way between the benches on either side of the wall. There were two pairs of boots not far away from him. Without turning his head, he took closer notice. He could see the bulge of a gun hidden in the soldier’s boots - not that it helped him much right now, but it might come in handy later.

He knew that - right now - he didn’t stand a chance even if he could get the gun. He would have to shoot two men, get out of the truck and find cover before the driver - and possibly more people sitting in the cab in front - came for him. In his current state he doubted he would get even as far as shooting the first man before he had a second bullet in his body. Taking that chance wouldn’t get him anywhere but closer to losing his life. He would have to remain patient and hope that he got a better chance.

Xxxxxxx

The chance that he had hoped for presented itself a little while later.

It happened suddenly. There was no warning before an explosion rocked the vehicle to the side, bringing it dangerously close to overbalancing. Callen slid the rest of the way under the bench on the opposite side at the same time that two bodies toppled to the floor where he had lain.

The impact with the wall made pain spike and his vision cloud but he forcefully pushed it back. The new influx of adrenaline helped counteract the effects of the pain as well as it helped his mind sharpen.

Gunfire picked up outside of the truck.

Callen reacted instinctively, his training taking over and his body simply following the muscle memory that had been ingrained after years and years of training and real life. He grabbed for the gun in the man’s boot that was only inches away from his face.

The soldier reacted a moment too late and Callen wrenched the gun free and fired point blank at the man, hitting him in the face. The initial grab for the gun and the ricochet of it firing hurt, his body again doused with pain, but he forced himself on. This might be his only chance to get away and survive. The second soldier moved and he shifted his aim, not stopping to wait for his aim to become steady before he fired two more bullets, both of them hitting center mass.

He took a moment to breathe before he rolled to his knees and pushed himself up. White hot pain exploded down his back, making his knees threaten to buckle, but he pushed through. Whatever had happened outside, he needed to take this chance.

He knew whatever gunfire was going on outside was not for his sake. It wasn’t the cavalry arriving to save him. Even _if_ they knew about what had happened by now - and that was a very big _if_ \- they were too far away to send reinforcements this quickly. He needed to get himself out of this mess alone.

Callen tumbled out of the truck, swallowing the moan of pain before glancing around and turning to make his way to what he had instantly identified as the best place for cover - several seemingly derelict houses on his left. Before he had even taken two steps, several bullets slammed into the ground in front of him, spraying pieces of asphalt and Callen recoiled, drawing to a stop.

Two soldiers stood 50 yards away, guns pointed at him. He instantly recognized their uniforms and inwardly sighed.

There went that chance. He had just jumped from the frying pan into the fire. His mind processed countless thoughts within moments.

Under any other circumstances, he would have welcomed the presence of Ukrainian soldiers over the situation he had been in before, but he knew his situation was still precarious. While America was technically an alley to the Ukrainians, his own position had been complicated beyond his understanding. His cover had been burned by no one other than his own President and he would need to find out what that meant for him before he could trust anything he had previously accepted as ‘truth’.

If he identified himself, he couldn’t be sure he would be safe or if he would be betrayed again. Ukraine was no safe place for him - with or without his cover identity.

His cover was blown to the Russians who wanted him dead for what his mission had been. Surrendering to the Ukrainians would still be dangerous, but it would hopefully provide better chances than being brought into Russia. His identifiers had been stripped from him in a fit of rage by his captors and therefore there was no name attached to him anymore. The Ukrainians wouldn’t know his identity. They would only see a man in a Russian uniform, beaten and bloody with a bullet wound in his back and his hands shackled in front. All of it combined might make the Ukrainians curious enough to hold their fire… at least if he surrendered. If he put up a fight now, he would be dead within seconds.

As a prisoner of war, he would be afforded some rights - rights he certainly would have been stripped off in Russia. Maybe the Ukrainians kept to the rule of law. He could only hope.

It took only milliseconds to process those thoughts and Callen tucked the surge of unease that threatened to overwhelm him back as he sunk to his knees, his fingers opening and the gun falling from his hands.

He didn’t hear anyone approaching from behind before pain exploded in his head and he fell forward, stunned as a black cloud of unconsciousness approached fast.


	3. Chapter 3

Callen drifted back to consciousness slowly. Vague memories of a would-be execution and a gun fight resurfaced along with his consciousness. While he wanted to snap his eyes open to find out what situation he found himself in _now_ , he held himself still to take stock first and try to figure out what he could without anyone being aware of his consciousness.

He was lying on his back on a mostly soft surface. Sounds of a heart monitor beeping made it into his brain. There was a hint of antiseptic smell lingering in the air. Both things pointed to being in a hospital.

His left arm was lying across his chest. A subtle shift of his wrist made him encounter resistance - either a sling or his arm had been strapped down. Both options reduced his ability to move. Luckily the pain he had expected to experience from the movement was dull.

He also felt a circle of metal lying around his right wrist. Another subtle shift - this time of his right wrist - evoked a soft chime and rattle. Cuffs. Now _that_ certainly reduced his ability of movement further.

His contemplation was broken by a door opening close by.

Callen kept his breathing slow and even. He had long since mastered the art of pretending to be asleep or unconscious. As long as he didn’t have more information about his status, he would be better of playing possum.

Soft steps approached. A touch to his right hand was brief, more a check-up than anything else. The touch alerted him to the shunt in the back of his hand… probably an IV-line.

The suspicion that he was in a hospital strengthened.

Something was put down on top of the covers, right beside his right hand and when he heard the person standing beside his bed turn away and start fiddling with some equipment, his fingers instantly traced the edges of what turned out to be a clipboard… a clipboard with a paper clip attached.

His ability of movement may currently be limited, but his chances were looking up again. Callen suppressed the smile that threatened to break out as he swiped the paper clip and fell still once more.

Years of training and work had honed his senses and he followed the person’s movement around without opening his eyes. The clipboard was picked up, a scribble of words being jotted down before the presence withdrew.

Callen waited for several moments after the door closed before he carefully opened his eyes to slits.

He was indeed in a hospital room. On his left side was a window, soft light hinting at early morning or maybe late evening. He could see the tops of several trees and instantly discounted the possibility of an escape through the window. Instead, he turned his eyes the other way and found a door with an observation window. He could see the back of a soldier in front of the door - probably a guard.

Taken together, everything hinted at him being in some Ukrainian hospital under military guard as a prisoner of war. Admittedly, it was a step up from being a Russian prisoner who would be punished for acting under foreign orders to take out one of the more dangerous generals of pro-Russian militia groups. In Russian custody, his life expectancy had been short. Compared to that, in Ukrainian custody, his chances had improved - especially since he had obviously received medical treatment.

At the same time it wasn’t the best position to be in either.

As long as he didn’t understand what was going on that had landed him here in the first place, he wouldn’t be safe.

His goal was to return home - if home was still a safe place. He trusted Hetty and his team, but everything else was doubtful for the moment. Contacting them directly may bring trouble he wasn’t sure he needed or could handle.

Having been stripped of his identifiers by his previous captors made sure no one here knew his name. He would appreciate it if it stayed that way since he didn’t want his name put down anywhere for the Russians - or anyone else - to find. That meant playing possum for as long as possible before making a break for it.

The paper clip was the first step to gaining his freedom. He could open the handcuff within seconds with its help. For the moment, he would just keep the clip though - in case anyone checked the cuffs they might otherwise wonder why they were lose. If at all possible, he didn’t want to have to harm anyone to get out of here so he had to find the weaknesses he could exploit to escape.

He kept his eyes nearly closed while he watched the guard outside, needing to stake out the routine.

Exhaustion tore at him, but he pushed it down. He would have time to rest later, when he was in the clear. Until then, his body just had to hang on and quit whining.

Xxxxxxx

It took several hours to find a pattern that he could exploit, but eventually he did. It went like this: first a nurse came in for a check-up. Once she left there were muted words being spoken outside. Then the guard would glance into the room before stepping away for several minutes.

While he couldn’t be sure, he suspected the nurse reassured the guard that the prisoner was still unconscious before the guard briefly checked with a glance for himself and then left - maybe for a bathroom break or a quick smoke. Whatever for, Callen didn’t care. This was his window of opportunity.

He didn’t doubt that there would be hurdles afterwards: he didn’t know the layout of the station; neither did he know if there were locked doors between him and the outside, but he had navigated similar situations in his life before and he was good at improvisation and trusting his instincts.

He bided his time.

When the nurse came the next time, he held himself still, waiting for the sequence of events he had picked up on.

The door clicking shut behind her.

A muted mumble of words.

The guard looking inside.

The guard leaving.

As soon as the soldier turned away, Callen’s fingers were working on the handcuffs. He had prepared the paper clip before, bending it into the shape he needed.

The soft click was all he needed to hear before he withdrew his right hand from the cuff and rolled to his side.

He gritted his teeth at both the surge of pain and the spots dancing in front of his eyes. Sitting up, he took the time to take the shunt out of the back of his right hand, the fingers of his left clumsy but nimble enough to manage the task. Reaching up with his right, he found the straps of the sling his left arm was in. Releasing the sling made him grit his teeth again when his arm shifted with a painful jolt. The stabilization of the sling would be welcome but he needed the freedom of movement for his escape.

Finding he was relatively stable by then, Callen turned towards the medical equipment. He shut off the heart monitor before detaching the electrodes from his skin, not wanting the monitors to start blaring and bring unwanted company. After freeing himself, Callen got to his feet and stumbled over to the door. He was glad to find that his steps stabilized after the first few moments of difficulty.

Carefully opening the door, he glanced left and right, smiling when he found the corridor empty. His eyes fell to a sign indicating a stairwell and his smile widened. Not hesitating, he left the room and moved towards the door. The stairwell was empty and he picked up his pace, moving down several flights of stairs before he entered what appeared to be the second level.

He needed clothes. In the hospital gown, he would be too noticeable. The gods were smiling upon him and a sign in Ukrainian pointed him to a changing room. Entering it, Callen was relieved to find it empty. Most lockers were closed, but there were several that lacked a lock, making those his prime targets. Opening the first locker he came upon, he drew out a pair of jeans. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but it would do. Shrugging into the button down shirt next, Callen quickly worked on dressing himself. The shoes were too small, but he crammed his feet into them anyhow. He also took the light jacket, hissing when he shrugged into it and his arm protested. Hooking his thumb into a belt loop gave his arm some stabilization for the moment without being too restrictive.

Barely three minutes after entering the room, he left it again - a pretty good time considering he wasn’t exactly agile with his left arm and his general state.

Callen knew he didn’t have much time anymore. He needed to get out of the hospital before his escape was noticed and the building placed under lockdown.

Returning to the stairwell, he followed it further down.

Upon ground level, he hesitated. The main entrance would be the quickest way outside, but possibly also the most guarded. For any normal person, escaping from the situation he had been in, going for the main entrance would be the most natural thing to do. For a former spy, an undercover operative with years of experience under his belt, there were other options though.

Turning away from the door, Callen moved further downstairs, into the basement. Most hospitals had extensive basement labyrinths - for maintenance and to move supplies around. There would be doors for deliveries somewhere that led to the outside.

Callen kept his steps unhurried as he calmly moved through the corridors, not caring that he didn’t know the way. He trusted his training and it kept him calm. He knew he would get out of this situation. The first hurdles had been the most difficult - getting out of a guarded room and out of a station where his face would be known to the staff on duty - everything that came now was just a matter of finding the right way and trusting his instincts.

He hadn’t seen any cameras in the corridors or the stairwell, so no one would know where he had gone. That hopefully gave him enough of a head start to figure out where he needed to go.

Stopping at an intersection, Callen took a slow and deep breath, ignoring the way his ribs complained, before decisively turning left. He could smell fresh air that way. Another turn and he came to a loading bay that was wide open, people unloading two delivery trucks.

No one glanced up at him and Callen idly moved past the men and down a several stairs, meandering as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The less attention he drew to himself, the better. He calmly moved away from the building and followed the narrow road that led to the loading bay, passing a small parking lot. He briefly contemplated stealing a car but decided against it. If the hospital was placed under lockdown, it was likely that the parking lots would be checked and the theft discovered quickly. He needed to remain anonymous and stay below the radar for as long as possible.

Moving past the parking lot, he reached the main street. Callen glanced up at the sign pointing the way he had just come to give him a better idea what he was facing. The pictograms hinted at a military hospital - just like he had suspected.

For a military hospital, security was shoddy. He mentally shrugged, deciding to be glad for it.

Callen turned left, keeping his steps even and calm. He needed to put some distance between himself and the hospital to figure out where he was and where to go from here.

Trees lined the street and he kept to the shadows of them. There were no side streets, so he was forced to remain on the main road. Even though he still felt threatened, he kept his steps even and calm. If he was being pursued, people would look for someone in a hurry, someone trying to run away. The intersection he could see coming up seemed busy and he allowed his steps to lengthen a bit to close the distance faster.

The street widened and he stopped briefly, looking left and right before decisively turning right, mingling with other people and instantly feeling safer for the cover they provided. He saw several malls ahead that became his destination. He could easily get lost in the crowds of people inside and he could find out more about his whereabouts. He still didn’t even know what city he was in.

Maybe five minutes after leaving the hospital, he approached the closest mall. Callen raised his eyes to the street signs above, taking in the writings as various signs pointed in different directions, proclaiming more malls, a museum and the main train station of Dnipro.

That at least solved the puzzle of what city he was in; Dnipropetrowsk was the 4th biggest city of Ukraine. It made sense for him to have been brought here considering the area where he had been taken captive before was not too far away and considering that Dnipro also had an important military presence. Callen tucked the newly acquired knowledge away and focused back on his immediate escape routes.

He entered the mall, keeping his face averted from the security camera at the entrance. While he didn’t know the extent of his visible injuries, he didn’t want to be flagged because of them.

The mall was nicely crowded and Callen went with the flow as he considered his options. He needed to get out of the city first. In the long run, he also needed to get out of the country so he could really lay low. He didn’t have any identification papers or passport and while he could possibly acquire these things in the underbelly that every major city had, it would take time and money. Good papers didn’t come cheap and he didn’t have a secret stash in Dnipro or any other Ukrainian city. He did have some stashes worldwide, but not here. Going back into Russia for one of his stashes was out of question for obvious reasons. His closest stashes outside of Russia were in Serbia and Belarus respectively. Neither country held a big appeal.

He also had to take into account that he probably couldn’t drive by himself with his left arm barely functional. Getting into Belarus or Serbia respectively meant he had to cross borders and without having any papers that would be difficult - especially if he had to rely on any form of transportation other than getting himself over an unguarded stretch of a border. Any form of public transportation would be generally scrutinized as passports were controlled.

The only other option was crossing into another country via the Black Sea. It would possibly be his best bet to cross a border unseen. There were sailors in every port who could be persuaded to make a side trip and not look too closely at who they shipped where. If you picked the right person and the right port, no one would be any wiser.

So as a first step, he would have to get to the shores of the Black Sea.

Considering Dnipro was one of the biggest cities of the country, he guessed it was a safe bet that there was a train connection to the Black Sea.

Catching a train meant that he would need some money to buy a ticket. Going by train without a ticket was too dangerous. If he was picked up for riding without a ticket, he might just find himself right back where he had started from. So he would have to be a model human being and follow the law… as soon as he had managed to get himself some finances that was.

Callen glanced around himself as his focus changed. He watched the people around him and quickly selected a target, his hand slipping into and out of a pocket within seconds.

You could take the kid off the street, but you couldn’t take the street out of the kid.

Stashing the wallet into his own pocket, he changed direction and entered a restroom moments later. Picking his findings apart, he only took the cash, leaving the credit cards where they were. Throwing the wallet away, he did a quick count and nodded to himself. That would be enough to let him buy some essentials and catch a bus to the main train station. Both the bus and a crowded train station would offer more options to acquire money.

Glancing into the mirror, Callen sighed when he caught his reflection. His eyes were bloodshot and heavily bruised. There was a cut held closed with butterfly stitches on his left cheek. Another cut was barely concealed by his hairline. His arm and shoulder were hurting, but he couldn’t change that. He tried keeping his left arm pressed against his chest to keep it immobile, but every step reverberated through him. All in all, he had seen better days.

Then again… he had also seen worse.

Callen shook his head and left the restroom. He continued wandering through the mall before he entered a small convenience store and purchased some simple reading glasses as well as a base cap. The inscription on the base cap - “free spirit” - made him smirk.

Ducking into another restroom, he broke the glasses out of the frame, leaving the impression of him wearing glasses when in fact they were empty. They served to change his appearance though and that was all that he wanted. It also helped that the frame was wide enough to hide the cut on his cheek.

With the base cap and the glasses he was suitably changed so that it would take more than a cursory glance to be recognized by any possible pursuers.

Nodding to himself, Callen moved through the mall towards one of the entrances. There was a bus waiting outside and he quickened his steps when he saw that it was headed towards the train station. Paying his fare, he moved down the aisle and squeezed himself into the crowded space of the open area.

There would be several stops before the bus arrived at the main station and Callen watched his fellow passengers covertly for a while. The person next to him pressed the stop button and he smiled to himself. He had seen the man putting his wallet into his pocket after he entered the bus.

When the bus took a corner, Callen allowed himself to be shifted by the momentum, bumping into the man. It was a quick move, his fingers once more closing around the wallet and withdrawing it. He mumbled an apology to the man for bumping into him, keeping his face half turned away. The man left the bus none the wiser.

Callen remained on the bus for two more stops until it arrived at the train station, stepping out together with several more passengers - and one more wallet exchanged ‘owners’.

Again, Callen made quick work of stripping the wallets of cash before throwing them away. He now had enough cash to start the next phase of his escape.

Orienting himself, he went to the counter and purchased a ticket.

Lady Luck continued bestowing him with her blessing: there was a train leaving for Odessa in fifteen minutes. Odessa was possibly the most important Ukrainian city with a port and therefore it was exactly where he wanted to end up. Granted, it also helped that it was a touristy place so he could easily get lost there… if he was even pursued that far which he doubted.

His escape had probably been noticed by now, but since no one knew who he was or what relevance he might have, it was doubtful that a big manhunt would be started - especially since no one had been hurt during his escape. If he had harmed a guard or medical personnel, a pursuit would have been more likely. As it was, his vanishing act would hopefully only be noted as a curiosity before everyone returned to business as usual.

In his estimation, he was already in the clear.

Buying himself a newspaper and a cup of coffee with some baked goods, he made his way to the platform to wait for his train. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect and he didn’t need to wait more than a few minutes before the train rolled in.

Finding himself a seat, he sunk down and carefully searched for a comfortable position - which wasn’t easy considering the bullet wound in his back. He carefully settled his arm against his stomach, trying to keep it stable.

Despite his previous thoughts that he was already in the clear, Callen still breathed a sigh of relief when the train left the station.

Now he only had eleven hours to go before he arrived in Odessa.

Xxxxxxx

Those eleven hours on that train had been hell.

The painkillers from the hospital had run their course, leaving him hurting. On top of that, the going hadn’t always been smooth, the rails making the train shake so the wound in his back was jostled frequently. Callen had thrown up in the lavatory twice when the pain spiked and his body demanded some sort of penance for what he forced it to endure.

He tried resting, curled up as best as he could while his body communicated its displeasure.

During the first - and most important - steps of his escape from the military hospital, his body had functioned well, but with the lowering threat level, the hospital’s painkillers leaving his system and the bouncing train, his injuries made themselves known.

It was nearly midnight when the train finally rolled into the station in Odessa.

Even though he had sat quietly for hours on end, he felt thoroughly exhausted. Callen was torn between the instinctive need to keep moving and his body’s intense demands for rest.

It was the harsh breeze coming from the water that settled things for him. If he was bounced around some more on any kind of vessel, he wouldn’t fare well. He needed to rest first before he could tackle the next steps. He would also need some time to find a person willing to take him on a ship cruise to the neighboring country.

It was somewhat of an irony that he would most likely end up in Constanta, Romania at the end of that particular leg of his escape. Somehow, Romania just seemed to reel him in every now and then.

Hopefully there would be no shooting and less of a threat this time around.

After leaving the train station, he quickly found a small motel, securing himself a room for the rest of the night.

Falling into bed, Callen sunk into a dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this chapter mentions happenings from another story of mine (‘Sanctuary’) and an OC from that story makes an appearance (@Gentlefailer: in case you’re still reading… this may just be your fault *laughs*). You don’t have to know that story to follow this one though. Just saying ;)

Callen woke up more clearheaded and rested. Even though it lengthened the duration of his escape, the break had been necessary. He had been exhausted and in too much pain to continue on by the time he had reached Odessa.

The pain was still there but he didn’t feel as badly as he had once he had stepped off the train last night.

While he had a general idea of where he needed to go in the long run, he hadn’t managed to concentrate on any concrete plans of how to deal with his situation yet.

He knew the basics:

He had been betrayed, his cover burnt by his own President. What he still couldn’t figure out was ‘why’ and how far reaching the consequences of this were.

Just as he hadn’t dared to reveal his identity to the Ukrainian soldiers, he wouldn’t dare going to a US embassy. If there was something more going on than ‘just’ his mission being compromised, he would be a sitting duck in an embassy. This might be incredibly paranoid, but caution and mistrust had served him well during his life.

He needed background information to decide on how to deal with the situation, on whether or not he still had a home in America or whether he better disappear for good.

The question was: how did he get that background information?

He could make contact with his team, but in case there _was_ something more going on, they might be monitored. So going that way was out of the question.

That left him with a little less wriggle room than he would like.

There weren’t many people he trusted enough with the scope of this particular situation.

Arkardy might be one place to go, but if anyone was out to get him specifically, then Arkardy would be too predictable a contact and could also be monitored to find him. The same could be said for Gibbs in Washington.

There were a few other operatives from various missions and other agencies he could _possibly_ trust, but most of them would not have the information he required to make a decision on where to go from here. Some of them might be able to get their hands on the information, but that would probably raise red flags because they had no business going after those answers unless Callen asked them to.

It all came down to the fact that he trusted only his team with the magnitude of this problem.

Considering he couldn’t contact them directly though, he would have to figure out a way to do it covertly.

Xxxxxxx

It took a few hours to be pointed in the right direction, but eventually, he found the right person to ask for a trip to Romania.

The man had a cousin twice removed in Romania and those two obviously had some sort of shady business going on. They would meet somewhere on the Black Sea, anchor together and exchange some goods.

Callen suspected it was probably cigarettes and alcohol, but he didn’t ask. The man didn’t give off the vibe of participating in the darker aspects of smuggling. The men dealing with human trafficking, guns and drugs alike usually had a darker and meaner vibe, were more hardened and dangerous.

This man struck Callen as an opportunist but not a generally bad person.

Mind you, Callen had also dealt with the other kind of smugglers and would have had no real problem in getting into Romania that way, but right now he was glad for not having to go for those characters. He wasn’t exactly in prime health and dealing with those types of persons required being on his guard all the time and presenting strength where he wasn’t quite sure he had it in him to do so.

The vessel was relatively small, but well kept. Sam had once told him that you could find out a lot about a person by his boat. What he saw was a well loved boat, paintwork immaculate, engine purring and everything put neatly away.

Callen found the captain was quite good company, his stories covering a wide array of topics, but always coming back to his small family. Pictures of his wife and daughter were proudly displayed on the bridge.

Callen mostly listened, only every now and then adding his two cents to some topic or another, but shying away from anything regarding his own person. The captain picked up on his hesitancy and didn’t ask too many questions.

It took eight hours to make it to their anchor point, another thirty minutes for the man’s cousin to arrive and shift the goods that exchanged hands in this smuggling run.

Callen shook hands with the man who had brought him this far before he climbed on board of the second vessel.

This boat wasn’t quite as immaculately kept as the previous one but it would do. The man in charge of the vessel did also give off a different vibe and Callen found himself instantly more cautious and wary of this man’s company. He drew upon years of undercover work and pushed his body to the limit, straightening despite feeling exhausted.

The fact that he felt decidedly under weather by that point didn’t help. His shoulder was tight with pain even though he had kept it as immobile as possible. The area around the bullet wound felt swollen and Callen had the nagging worry that an infection was setting in.

He guessed he would have to find himself a pharmacy to purchase some medication as soon as he made it to Constanta.

By the time they made it ashore roughly four hours later, docking in a small harbor that held sports yachts and small fishing trawlers, Callen knew he was running a low grade fever.

It was the last thing that he needed, but it didn’t come as too much of a surprise.

Given all that Lady Luck had done for him previously, he knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on to be annoyed about the infection.

Xxxxxxx

It was early morning when Callen made it into the center of Constanta from where he grabbed a train headed to Bucharest.

He purchased some antibiotics before boarding the train and also bought a prepaid cell phone.

Before leaving the ship, he had made use of the smuggler’s dealings and handed him several more bills in exchange for a weapon. While he didn’t immediately felt pressured or threatened, the next steps had the potential to blow up in his face and with his weakening state, he needed the added layer of protection a gun gave him. He hadn’t come this far to go down without fighting if need be.

The nearly three hours on the train to Bucharest were spent mostly trying to get by. The train ride was every bit as grueling as the one in the Ukraine had been with every bump in the rails jarring his body and making the pain flare brighter.

Callen was relieved when he eventually stepped out of the train station in Bucharest.

He hoped that the next steps of his plan would work because that would mean he could settle down for a while.

If not, or if he didn’t get the information he hoped for, he would have to continue running… though as of yet, he wasn’t sure what he would be running _from_ , let alone what he would be running _towards_.

Settling himself in a nearby park, glad for the mild weather, he took out the phone. He had looked up the relevant information beforehand. Callen watched the screen for long moments before he sighed and started dialing.

“Israeli Embassy Bucharest. How may I help you?”

“Hi. I’m an acquaintance of Elias Selman. I think he’s currently stationed in L.A., but I was wondering if you could forward a message to him…?” Callen asked, keeping his voice friendly and soothing. He hoped that by reaching out to Elias, he would remain hidden as Elias wasn’t exactly a well known contact or friend. At the same time, he trusted the man enough to approach him. They had gotten on well while working in an international taskforce together a decade or so ago and had crossed paths once more a few years ago when Nadir Zahavi had fled to L.A. from Columbia where he had witnessed the abduction of his family.

Elias had been tasked with keeping an eye on Nadir after Callen - with the backing of the OSP team - had refused to hand Nadir over to the Israeli consulate where he would know no one. Elias and Callen shared a background in foster care that they had bonded over when they first worked together. They hadn’t remained in contact after the taskforce had done its job, but after crossing paths in L.A. due to Nadir, they had met up a few more times afterwards.

Even though they had met a couple of times, Callen was certain that Elias wouldn’t be on anyone’s radar in case he was being hunted by his own Government, so going to Elias felt like his best option at the moment.

There was only a brief pause on the other end of the line before the woman spoke up again. “Certainly. I can do that for you, Mr…?” She left the sentence hanging, fishing for a name.

“Abramson, Nadir Abramson,” Callen supplied easily. The surname was unimportant, but the first name would be one hint for Elias as to who was trying to contact him. The wording of the message would do the rest.

“Alright Mr. Abramson. What’s the message?”

“Tell him: Elias, I have some information about the Sharov case that I would like to discuss with you in private. Quietly,” Callen dictated slowly, so the woman could take down the words.

Sharov had been the leader of a terrorist cell that had resulted in the formation of the taskforce. It was one more code word that would help Elias connecting the dots. By telling him he wanted to do this privately and quietly, Callen hopefully ensured that Elias would keep this under wraps until they could talk.

“Very well, Mr. Abramson. How can Mr. Selman reach you?” the woman asked several moments later, after the clicking of a keyboard faded away.

“I fear I will be difficult to reach for the foreseeable future. If you could ask Mr. Selman to supply me with a means of contact, I will call in again to collect that information,” Callen suggested. He didn’t want to hand out his cell phone number, had deliberately blocked the number from appearing on anyone’s screens. He needed to remain in control as much as possible considering he felt out of control about most of his situation at the moment.

“I don’t know when I will be able to forward the message though,” the woman cautioned.

“That’s a chance I have to take,” Callen gave back amiably, “thanks for your help, ma’am.” He disconnected the call and took a slow breath. Reaching up, he wiped his hand down his face, feeling the perspiration that had less to do with nerves acting up and more with the inflammation settling in his body.

He hoped the antibiotics would soon kick in and do their job. He didn’t exactly want to find a doctor to patch him up or another hospital stay in his future.

Xxxxxxx

The atmosphere around her seemed dull, lifeless. Ever since watching that video, ever since watching the execution of her agent, life had seemed darker.

Eric and Nell had ripped the video apart frame by frame. They hadn’t been able to confirm a lethal shot, the video too poor in quality to be certain, but the chance of either of the two fired bullets missing its target had been minimal with the close proximity. While that usually wouldn’t mean much to her, knowing just who her agent was and knowing how resourceful he could be under threat, it had actually been her protégé who made her believe in the result of the execution. The way her agent’s eyes had widened and then shuttered, the way he had resigned himself to his fate let her be certain that what they had seen was real.

Hetty glanced around, taking in the scene without actually caring for it. Her eyes fell onto the figure of a man, approaching slowly. She stood when the younger man stepped up to the table she had secured in the small café. “Mr. Selman. It was a surprise to hear from you,” Hetty greeted softly, offering her hand to the other man. She sighed and lowered her gaze, “I know he was a friend of yours, too. I’m sorry.” A stab of pain tore through her again upon the thought of her lost protégé.

After shaking hands, Elias sat down. He didn’t acknowledge her words. Instead he watched her steadily. “I need to know what your government’s position is in this debacle.”

Hetty frowned and tilted her head to the side, uncertain what the man was after… or more importantly _why_ he was after any information regarding Callen’s mission that had gone so horribly wrong. “What do you mean?”

Elias shifted forward, “was this the result of one man unable to abide by or not caring for the rules of the game? Was this the result of one man not understanding the importance or meaning of confidential information? Or was this bigger than one man? Was this a targeted attack?”

Hetty leaned back in her chair and continued watching the man in front of her. It was highly unusual for a foreign operative to approach her in this way, especially about a case that merely held a slim personal connection to him. She knew that Callen and Selman had worked together and that they got on reasonably well, especially after Nadir had turned up in L.A. a few years ago, but it didn’t make sense for Selman to insert himself into a US case that had nothing to do with Israel.

It seemed like there was something going on that Hetty wasn’t aware of - which had been happening too much lately… and with horrifying consequences. “As far as I’m aware of, this was nothing more than what it seems to be on the surface,” she said slowly, answering the man’s question without giving him much.

“How sure can you be?” Elias pressed.

Hetty continued watching him, but he didn’t shrink back. Instead he returned her gaze, studying and watching in return. He obviously searched her posture, her gestures and her features for something. She held his gaze, “as sure as I can be. My sources have not given me any indication that there was a conspiracy or anything other than our President doing what he has been doing since he took office.”

There was a beat of silence before Elias nodded and relaxed slightly, “he will be glad to hear that,” he said softly.

Hetty abruptly straightened and leaned forward, her gaze sharpening and boring into the younger man in front of her. “He?” she asked somewhat brusquely, her eyes darting left and right, checking their surroundings when before she hadn’t much cared about them.

Elias gave her a small smile and a nod. “Callen,” he confirmed her unvoiced suspicion, her kindling hope. He leaned forward with a sigh, bringing them closer while he lowered his voice, “yesterday, a call has been taken by one of our embassies. The caller asked for a message to be forwarded to me. He left enough keywords for me to suspect his identity.”

“He’s alive?” Hetty asked in a whisper, hope slowly blossoming.

Elias nodded, “I talked to him briefly a little while ago. He’s alive, though I know he’s injured. He refused to elaborate, and for the moment I let it go. There were more pressing matters to attend.”

Hetty’s mind that had been somewhat sluggish, burdened by grief for the last few days, shifted gears and quickly started clearing. Instantly, she reviewed the conversation with the man in front of her and knowing her own protégé as well as she did, she could instantly follow his line of thought. “He knew he had been compromised by POTUS, but he wasn’t certain if there was more to it. So he didn’t dare going to one of our own embassies,” she guessed.

“He inserted an intermediary to carefully probe if it was safe for him or if he needed to keep his head down,” Elias added calmly, confirming what she had deducted.

“I need to make some calls to ensure there is in fact nothing more going on,” Hetty said firmly. She wouldn’t risk being wrong, wouldn’t risk not double checking, “will you be meeting with him?”

Elias smiled slightly and inclined his head, “that most certainly depends on what information you can give me. If it’s bad, I suspect he will probably vanish without a trace. But generally, I intended to do so.”

Hetty gave a slow nod, “may I suggest you take Agent Hanna with you? He’s a good friend to Callen and he has enough medical knowledge to take care of him while we make certain it is safe for him to return.”

“Very well,” Elias agreed. He knew of Callen’s friendship with his partner and he guessed Sam would be good to have around. If he knew his old friend at all, Callen would be charged with paranoia and difficult to handle. “Have Sam meet me at LAX in two hours.” He decided against revealing more information. Even though he knew that Callen trusted these people, he decided to err on the side of caution for the time being.

Elias stood up and turned away from the table. Before he took more than two steps, he stopped and moved back to Hetty. “A word of advice, Ms. Lange… whatever measures you people are looking into to get a handle on this man, you should not wait much longer. There is darkness looming on the horizon. The signs are similar to what started in the 1930. The people of Israel have suffered for it… the _world_ has suffered for it.”

Hetty sighed and lowered her eyes for a moment. “I know,” she acknowledged.

Elias watched her for another moment before he gave her a nod and left. He had places to be, things to do.

Xxxxxxx

Sam hat met up with Elias Selman at LAX as planned. Hetty hadn’t given him an extended explanation other than to meet up with the man and head with him to wherever it was that his partner was holed up at.

G had used one more of his nine plus lives and obviously escaped the execution they had viewed, or rather the execution that had been staged. There had been no way these men could have missed their target with Callen kneeling at their feet mere steps away.

After dark days of depression and anger, the team had been elated to receive the news of Callen’s survival - in the locked down and secured Ops room - before Hetty had handed out one task to the team: to turn over every stone, every pebble, every sand grain and every atom and find out if Callen was in the clear of if someone in their government - especially at the highest level - was after his head. Sam knew that they all would do their hardest to make sure it was safe for Callen.

Instead of joining the rest of his team, Sam’s task had been to meet up with his partner’s contact and travel with him.

Sam had tried asking Elias for information before leaving L.A., but the other man had brushed him off. Admittedly, he had done so gently, but he had been firm on that and while it set Sam’s nerves on edge to not know where they were headed, it also gratified him to see that Elias didn’t take G’s trust lightly.

The fact that he was allowed to tag along had to be enough of a sign of trust for the moment it seemed.

So Sam had sat back and waited patiently… all the while nervously jiggling his leg up and down or tapping his fingers.

An intercontinental and several connecting flights later, they wound up in Bucharest, Romania.

Inwardly, Sam sighed upon arrival. His memories of Romania were mediocre at best, but in a way, he wasn’t terribly surprised that G had ended up here: it was a neighboring country to the Ukraine where his mission had taken him after all.

Plus… it must be in his DNA to be drawn back to the country he had been born and spent the first few years of his life in.

They had left Bucharest airport fifteen minutes earlier, after acquiring a rental car. Sam had seen his current travelling partner check his phone and send a text while Sam had been at the rental agency’s counter.

When Elias’ cell phone chimed with an incoming text, Sam briefly took his eyes from the road and glanced over. “Directions?” he asked pointedly. In lack of a proper direction to head to, they had been merely driving towards the city center of Bucharest so far.

Elias glanced over, his features calm and smooth while he nodded. He returned his eyes to the phone and Sam briefly saw a map open up on the screen before he focused back on driving. It only took a few seconds before Elias spoke again, “take the next exit.”

For the next twenty minutes, Sam followed Elias’ directions. While both of them were somewhat on edge, there was still an easy companionship as they navigated to wherever it was that G was holed up. Sam had gotten to know Elias a little several years ago after Nadir had ended up in their laps and G had taken the boy under his wing. He liked Elias, even though they hadn’t had many conversations.

After parking the car, Sam rolled his eyes at his partner’s choice of location. “A derelict auto repair shop… go figure,” he muttered under his breath and glanced over when Elias snorted in amused agreement.

Both of them left the car and Sam followed the other man, moving half a step behind him.

Elias led the way into the abandoned shop.

Dust swirled around. There were no footprints on the ground, meaning that G either hadn’t arrived yet or that he had found a different way into the building.

Moving further into the open space, both men stopped at the same time, their hands going for their guns, when there was a soft sound of movement to their right. Turning, neither of them drew their guns when they came face to face with the man they had come for.

Sam allowed relief wash over him that G was all right. Or rather, that he was alive. While Elias had said so, there had been a small voice of doubt keeping him from really believing it. But now that he saw his partner, he allowed the relief to swamp him.

He let his eyes to wander over his partner, not reacting to the gun being pointed steadily at them. The outstretched arm seemed to be just about the only thing about G that was steady. His eyes looked hollow and glazed. There was a nasty bruise along his cheek and more bruising around both eyes. Added to that, he held his left arm close to his body, almost as if he'd broken it. Sam could also see sweat beading his forehead and tremors shaking his whole body.

“G?” he murmured softly when Elias didn’t make a move, instead left this situation for Sam to deal with.

It took a moment before G’s arm slowly sunk down to his side and some of the tension left his frame. Sam watched him close his eyes for a moment before he glanced up once more. The expression in his eyes was pure exhaustion coupled with a forlorn kind of incomprehension.

Sam slowly stepped closer and then reached out. His fingers curled around the back of his partner’s neck as he drew him closer. G came with a tiny sigh that Sam more felt against his skin than he heard.

“Fucking glad to see you,” G murmured against Sam’s skin as he allowed his partner to carefully enfold him for a moment.

“You and me both, partner,” Sam mumbled back, “you and me both.”

Xxxxxxx

As soon as Hetty learned that they had made contact with Callen and that they had ended up in Bucharest, she sent them an address where they could regroup and get a handle on G’s physical state.

While his partner didn’t say anything or complain, Sam knew he was hurt. He just didn’t know how badly yet.

“Of course Hetty has a place in Bucharest,” G muttered with an eye roll when Sam showed him the text.

Hunkering down in Hetty’s apartment would also give the team in L.A. more time to go over their findings with another fine-toothed comb. So far, they hadn’t found anything suggesting that there was a conspiracy against Callen. It seemed more like a case of one man either not caring for secrecy or for him trying to win something out of his Russian counterpart.

Hetty’s place was on the other side of the city, but they made it there in good time and before long, Sam ushered his partner into the apartment in front of him, Elias bringing up the rear. Callen had given them a brief run-down over how he came to be here, how he had escaped from the pro-Russian group and the Ukrainian hospital respectively.

Getting G to reveal his injuries was as difficult as it always was, but Sam used every trick in his arsenal and soon he was allowed to check his partner over. He found the bullet wound - infected - and saw the multitude of bruises on his abdomen, felt his ribcage - some broken ribs and some cracked ones - and gauged his overall state - underweight from months of being undercover in a warzone, feverish from the infection and exhausted from his fight to survive. While they couldn’t be positive, they both suspected that G’s shoulder blade was either fractured or broken. Since his partner hadn’t taken the time to study his medical file in the military hospital in the Ukraine, they would have to wait until they were back home to confirm their suspicion. In the meantime, Sam managed to get his partner to agree to wearing a sling - which in turn let Sam know exactly how badly his friend had to be hurting.

More than the physical damage though, there was a wild edge to his partner, his paranoia working on full throttle and not looking to wind down.

It took hours that first night before G settled down enough to get some rest, tension remaining in his body despite being among trusted friends who would protect him if necessary.

Sam could understand the paranoia. His partner had operated in a war zone all by himself with no backup and no safety net and as if that wasn’t bad enough, he had been carelessly betrayed by his own government. It would give anyone reason to doubt what they had previously known as ‘right’ or ‘true’.

The antibiotics that G had begun taking before Sam and Elias had arrived started working during the night as the fever broke. It didn’t help ease G’s state of mind, but at least it allowed his body to start recovering.

Getting the ‘all clear’ from Hetty that the team hadn’t found anything suspicious did give his partner some level of comfort, but Sam knew it would take time for it to really sink in and allow his paranoia to release him from its grasp.

They stayed in Bucharest for three more days to allow G to calm down and regain some strength. Well, G and Sam remained in Bucharest while Elias left a day before them, heading home to Israel to see some of his family while he was in the neighborhood.

Elias left with a quiet warning to his friend. “Take care, Callen. I fear this isn’t over yet.”

He should be proven correct.


	5. Chapter 5

Ten days after returning to America, Hetty called Callen to her office space. He was on restricted duty and not allowed to do field work, but he had refused to stay away completely. Allowing him to work in the office had been a compromise that Hetty had been willing to agree to.

He didn’t get much done considering his left arm was still in a sling, but Hetty knew they all felt better for having Callen around.

Callen sank down into the chair in front of her desk only minutes after she had requested his presence. Hetty nodded to the cup of tea on his side and he picked it up with a small quirk of his lips.

Silence fell between them while they both sipped their tea. Both of them were experienced in their little game of chicken and Callen had gotten very good in out-waiting her. Hetty smiled to herself, hiding it behind the fine china of her cup.

Eventually, Hetty put her cup down and sighed softly. She reached for an envelope and slid it over to her protégé.

Callen watched her curiously as he put his own cup down and picked up the envelope, his eyes still on her and prompting her to explain.

“It arrived earlier this morning,” Hetty said calmly, watching as Callen opened the envelope and withdrew the legal document. His eyes quickly moved over the writing before they came back up to meet hers.

“So it’s starting,” Callen stated calmly. He shrugged a little, “we knew it was a possibility.”

His voice was unconcerned, but Hetty saw the tightening of his features. They had indeed discussed this possibility before and had known it might be coming. The President’s conduct was dangerous in many people’s views and only a considerable skill set and an even bigger amount of luck had saved Callen from a fatal fate on the heels of being burned by the man who - above all - should have protected not only their country as a whole but also the undercover agent as an individual.

Callen put his subpoena down on the desk, his hand once more reaching for the cup of tea.

“We’ll be flying to Washington tomorrow. The hearing will be the day after,” Hetty informed him calmly. They had both been subpoenaed - him as the undercover operative who had been under mortal threat and her as his direct superior and supervisor.

Callen sighed and leaned back in his chair, watching her intently. “This will get ugly, won’t it?” he asked quietly.

Callen had been out of touch with US policy for the last year, but in light of the happenings, she knew he had read up on what he had missed since he had returned. “Considering what happened during and after the last impeachment proceedings, I’d say it’s bound to,” Hetty intoned calmly.

Neither of them had done anything wrong. Neither of them had anything to do with the hand they had been dealt, but the upcoming battle would likely be grueling in a different capacity.

Xxxxxxx

It started easy and respectful.

“First of all, I’d like to thank you for your service to your country, Agent Callen. I’m deeply sorry you had to endure what you did during your last assignment. I hope you’ll have a speedy recovery.”

He told his story and answered questions: “How can you be sure it was the President who gave your identity away?”

Callen held the man’s eyes, calmly replying, “my captors bragged about it, saying that their President had a good conversation with mine, that information had been given to them that led them straight to me. They laughed and joked about it, saying that soon they wouldn’t need their own intelligence agencies any longer if they got all the necessary information handed like this.”

The Representative nodded, the anger in the man’s eyes visible but held back - it wasn’t anger that was directed at Callen though… not from that side of the room.

“Why didn’t you reveal your identity to the Ukrainian soldiers that basically liberated you from the pro-Russian rebel fraction?”

Callen gave a small and careful shrug, “I spent eleven months in a warzone, relying only on myself and my instincts. I had just been burned by my own President. I wasn’t inclined to reveal my identity to anyone in the Ukraine or anywhere else before I could get a handle on the situation.”

“You also didn’t approach any US embassies. Instead you made contact with your superior through background channels. You didn’t trust your own government.”

There was no rebuke in the statement, just mild curiosity and concern. “Put in that position, I had no reason to trust anyone. I have been an undercover operative for many years. These kinds of deep cover operations require not only skill but also complete faith in your own abilities. If your instincts warn you about something, you better listen to them or you wind up dead,” Callen said simply, “and my instincts told me to be cautious about who to trust.”

While one side was fair in their questions, the other side started attacks as soon as they got their time allocated to them.

“Agent Callen, thank you for your service. You said it was the President who gave information about your placement and your identity away. How can you be sure?”

There was a certain tone to the question, a disbelieving and controversial edge that had him battling against righteous indignation. Callen swallowed his anger and answered in an even tone. “As I testified previously, my captors bragged about it.”

“So it’s all just hearsay? You want us to believe those pro-Russian rebels above our own President?”

So yeah, it would get ugly.

Having been prepared for it, Callen drew the mantle of an undercover alias more firmly around himself, keeping an outwardly unaffected demeanor while inwardly, he was seething. “I wasn’t part of the meeting between our President and the Russian leader, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m here as a fact witness and to testify about what has happened to me when my cover was compromised. My captors bragging about the way they received their information was part of that. They had no reason to lie about it.”

The Representative scoffed, “why should our President sell you out to Russia?”

“I wasn’t inclined to ask my captors while they held a gun to my head and it’s not my job to find that out,” Callen gave back pointedly, his tone frosty and barely this side of courteous.

“Isn’t it true that your father was a Major in the Russian army?”

A low blow. Something they had anticipated, but it still stung. “And he helped countless people escaping from an oppressive government,” Callen countered evenly.

“Still… a man who worked against his own government…” the Representative said with contempt, not making a direct attack but instead hinting that Callen might be doing the same thing.

Callen bit back any comment. When there was silence in the room, all eyes on him, he adapted an indifferent air and returned the Representative’s gaze. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you asked a question. Could you repeat what you want me to answer?” If the Representative wanted to accuse him of anything, he would have to spell it out.

The smirks on some of the supportive Representatives’ faces were just a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

“So you actively participated in a foreign war, fighting not for our proclaimed ally but instead for the enemy?” the man kind of followed up on his previous questions and Callen refrained from rolling his eyes or blowing up at the man.

“That’s what an undercover job sometimes entails,” he replied simply, “it was my job to infiltrate the pro-Russian militia and that included working with them.”

“So in doing so, you basically supported a foreign regime. Like father, like son, eh?” The Representative leaned back in his seat, satisfaction practically oozing from his features, “I yield back.”

The other side picked up the thread and gave him an opportunity to add on that. “Agent Callen, would you like to comment on that?”

“I don’t think my heritage should have anything to do with this. I grew up in the United States without my parents and didn’t know anything about either of them until a few years ago. By then I had served this country - my country - for multiple years in different federal agencies, specializing in undercover operations. Also, my father died several years ago, so I don’t see what he has to do with why we are here today. My job was the infiltration of pro-Russian militia and that included working with these men. It was my job, just as I’ve done countless other similar missions under the purview of the United States.”

It went back and forth like that, one side genuinely interested in uncovering the facts of what had happened, the other side merely trying to find ammunition against the whole process, trying to drag him through the mud or ridicule the other political side - taking sides in a process that shouldn’t take political sides but that should work for the good of the American people.

“Was going to a foreign operative a normal exit strategy?” they asked, again trying to insinuate he had done something wrong by not trusting the government that had burned his cover.

“With all due respect, Sir, I’m not under investigation here.” Callen was slowly reaching the end of his patience and his replies to those Representatives became shorter. He still made sure to remain courteous. Their attacks didn’t make it easy though.

“Well, maybe you should be,” the man needled and after a brief pause, when Callen didn’t say anything, he added, “why didn’t you follow the normal protocols?”

They had been over that before and he wasn’t inclined to elaborate in any more detail, so he kept his answer court. “I didn’t know who to trust anymore.”

The man rolled his eyes and sneered, “ahh, yes, your fabricated conspiracy theory.”

He felt little more than contempt for these men, men who should have the country’s best interest at heart but seemed to merely try and crawl into the President’s pockets and his good grace.

He was exhausted from keeping himself together. His shoulder was throbbing in response to the tension that mounted in his muscles. Callen was glad when the hearing was finally adjourned and he was allowed to leave. He would prefer staring down a terrorist with a dead-man-switch on any day of the week over this - being targeted when he wasn’t in the wrong, having his heritage, his integrity and his reputation trampled on.

Hetty was waiting for him outside, but he brushed her off and quickly found his way out of the building, intent on losing himself in the streets of America’s capitol.

Xxxxxxx

Depending on which news outlet you followed, there were different standings on the whole proceedings.

**A second impeachment is looming**

_’After his previous acquittal, Senators from his own party suggested the President had been suitably chastened and learned from his mistakes. It became painfully obvious multiple times since then that wasn’t the case._

_Several weeks ago, after a White House meeting with the Russian President, sources close to the White House leaked information that the President had given away confidential information in that meeting. It later became known that the identity of an undercover operative had been shared. The President’s righteous tweets shortly after the meeting suggested no remorse or understanding of wrongdoing._

_Last week, it became public that the House Intelligence Committee was starting a new impeachment inquiry. Unnamed sources leaked the information that the aforementioned undercover operative had aborted his assignment after his identity had been compromised. It is yet unconfirmed that he was injured and barely made it out of his assignment alive._

_In order to fulfill their oversight duties, the House Intelligence Committee has since subpoenaed the agent and his superiors as well as different White House officials who had been present during the meeting with the Russian President. The hearings haven’t been public due to the sensitive nature and to protect the undercover agent’s identity._

_Several different non-partisan, nonprofit watchdog organizations have sued the White House in several Freedom of Information Acts for the release of documents pertaining that Presidential meeting.’_

Xxxxxxx

**They are trying again**

_’After the first impeachment inquiry had been curtailed, resulting in a resounding acquittal of the President, another partisan witch hunt is starting. As the President told our reporters in today’s morning show, another inquiry was being done and blown out of proportion._

_It is well within the President’s rights to share information with other world leaders as he sees fit. Any connection with an aborted intelligence mission is simply misconstructed and delusional._

_The inquiry that started up yet again reeks of partisan behavior since the President’s defenders weren’t even allowed to participate - reminiscent of the last proceedings. The hearings took place in a secure underground bunker. The agent who had been subpoenaed remains anonymous._

_Our sources told us though that this man’s background is more than questionable. Being the son of a Russian Major and a Romani gypsy calls into question the man’s loyalties.’_

Xxxxxxx

Depending on the news outlet you followed, he was either a poor hero or the country’s worst enemy. He loathed being either. While he didn’t care about the newspapers opinion, it still grated on his nerves.

He had known it wouldn’t be pretty. And the worst thing was that he knew it would only get worse. While he wouldn’t be called up to testify again, he knew that it wouldn’t end here. He had read up on the first impeachment trial and he knew this investigation wouldn’t be any different in that regard. If anything, it might only be worse because the President had been unbound after his previous ‘acquittal’.

It therefore came as no surprise when the tweets picked up.

ANOTHER WITCH HUNT. ANOTHER HOAX. MORE LIES. THEY ARE TRYING TO IMPEACH ME AGAIN OVER NOTHING. I HAVE THE ABSOLUTE RIGHT TO DO WHATEVER I WANT.

THAT ‘AGENT’ IS A TRAITOR, A DOUBLE AGENT JUST LIKE HIS FATHER. HE SHOULD BE INVESTIGATED FOR TREASON, NOT ME. IT’S A DISGRACE.

I AM NOT AT FAULT FOR A MAN WHO COULDN’T COMPLETE HIS MISSION AND WAS TAKEN PRISONER. ONLY A WEAK MAN WOULD BE TAKEN PRISONER AND CLAIM I HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH THAT.

THEY ARE TRYING TO IMPEACH ME OVER A PERFECT MEETING THIS TIME.

Xxxxxxx

Callen left L.A. after a brief stop at OSP. He’d consciously chosen to go there before everyone else arrived in the morning. After leaving what he had come to deliver, he drove up the coast, finding one of the spots that he usually chose to calm his mind.

The last weeks he had been swinging back and forth between indifference, indignation, fury and disbelief.

That one hearing had been his only active part in the proceedings. Most of his testimony had been made public, just the sensitive parts regarding national security had been left out. That hearing had been just the first step in a second impeachment trial of the President - an impeachment that would come to a close today. The Senate would call out the verdict and while there were some Senators considering tumbling over the party line to support a verdict, it was by no means certain the impeachment would end any different to the last one.

Whatever the verdict, Callen had come to a decision for himself.

He tensed when he heard someone approach his position. He instinctively reached for his weapon, his hand falling back to his side when he identified his partner moments later. “How did you find me?” he asked quietly when Sam sank down on the ground beside him.

“Tracked your phone,” Sam said simply.

Callen shook his head. “I shut it off.” He withdrew the device and frowned before rolling his eyes and stuffing it back into his pocket. “Should have taken the battery out,” he muttered.

Sam shrugged with a small smirk. “You know better. Nell and Eric didn’t even have to try hard.”

Callen remained silent, his eyes on the ocean in front of him. Truth was, he did know better but he also hadn’t exactly cared if he was found by his team. Maybe he had even banked on them following his steps.

There was a lengthy pause while they sat side by side. Eventually, Sam spoke up once more. “A letter of resignation, G?” he asked softly, all signs of mirth gone.

Callen merely shrugged, not taking his eyes of the ocean.

“You’ve faced worse than this before,” Sam stated calmly, “why are you quitting?” There was no attack in the words, no reproach, but mere sad curiosity.

Callen sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve been burned before, come close to dying in the service to my country several times, but every time so far, I was certain that what I was doing was with the backing and protection of my government,” he said softly. Sam remained silent, allowing him to sort his thoughts. “Even with the black ops I’ve been on, knowing I was on my own if I were discovered, in a way I knew the mission had been approved by the higher-ups. Even if they couldn’t offer protection if things went south, it was alright. I knew what I was getting myself into. This… if the one in charge of all of this, our own President, gives us away on a whim with no regards to our safety and only for his own benefit… and then the people around him take his side and support him despite glaringly obvious wrongdoing. If they attack the wrong persons and the very process they swore to uphold… how can we still confidently go out there if we have to wonder whether our government throws us under the bus the next time the President wishes it so?”

He could feel Sam watching him from the side. It was uncharacteristic for Callen to walk away from anything, but there was simply one thing he couldn’t get past: “Our job is too dangerous to do if our own side is working against us.”

Xxxxxxx

_“Breaking news: We return to our special coverage of the impeachment proceedings. Today marks the last day of the second impeachment trial of the President as the Senators are casting their votes…”_

Xxxxxxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do realize that many of you probably don’t like this ending (neither Callen’s resignation nor the kinda cliffhanger). I did debate with myself over the resignation part because I’m of the firm opinion that being a federal agent is not only a job for Callen, but basically defines him. At the same time, while writing this story, it actually felt like this was the only way it could end. I didn’t set out with this ending in mind, but in the end it did feel like a foregone conclusion anyhow and it felt like there was no wiggle room to go a different way.
> 
> As for the cliffhanger-part: that one was definitely deliberate as I didn’t want to call a final verdict. That way each and everyone can make up their own mind.
> 
> That being said: thanks for following the story and to all of those who commented or sent kudos: you always make my days! Keep safe everyone and see you soon :)


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